Bending, Not Breaking
by Val-Creative
Summary: Otabek cares more for the physical vibrations. The sensation follows up his own fingertips and straight into Otabek's chest, unearthing that desire he's buried down deep. Yuri is not the only one who wants. So badly. /Canon AU. Otayuri. Yurabek. Oneshot.


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 _Rule #1: No touching below the waist._

The sheets are bare and linen, dangling off one of Yuri's legs. Otabek can't pull his eyes away. Lean, sinewy muscles clench up, earned in Yuri's figure skating and ballet, and release every ounce of tension.

Fingernails rake through brown-golden curlicues of hair, from the crest of Yuri's knee to his upper thigh. He's pale underneath his body hair, milky and unblemished. It's lovely in its own way. The color, Otabek means.

 _Isolated_. _Perilous_ —the top of a snowy, ice-hardened mountain, crackling with lightning high above. Otabek thinks of pure white like _death_. There's radiance, yes, but it carries a harshness. Empty and cold.

Yuri's skin feels warm, inviting in softness, betraying any of Otabek's associations.

He's sixteen.

 _Rule #2: Ask first._

Yuri's been playing this game with him for a couple of weeks. He sneaks any lingering touches to Otabek's hip, during a one-armed goodbye hug at the when he bucks down for more friction in Otabek's lap, Yuri's tongue slick and filling the crevice of his mouth, licking along Otabek's palate and molars.

Making out never breaks any of the rules they agreed upon, despite Yuri's obvious reluctance to _stop_. Otabek isn't unaware of what Yuri wants, considering all of his greedy, eager caresses and disappointed sighs.

Otabek's futon groans under the shifting weight.

Yuri echoes it, at a lower and pleasurable pitch, his right hand stroking up the length of his own exposed cock. Yuri's thumb drags against the fluid glistening out of the tip. He spreads it around the ridge of his cockhead peeking out of foreskin, Yuri's legs quivering slightly.

Truthfully, what he's doing isn't against their rules.

It's that _Otabek_ can't touch him like this.

Yuri remains spread out on his back, pumping himself at a lazy pace, his toes uncurling to Otabek's sheets. The hem of Yuri's featureless, dull jersey rides up his navel. His video-game controller left abandoned.

Otabek's borrowed television fades into blaring, fuzzing static. It feels like the static noise _invades_ Otabek and his concentration, burrowing into his mind, absorbing everything _but_ a panting Yuri right beside him.

 _Rule #3: No means stop. And stop means stop._

Otabek doesn't realizes he's spoken Yuri's name until the murmur registers. It hovers within the stifled, humidity of the bedroom, saturated in fascination and heat.

His resolve doesn't break so much as it _crumbles_ under its own weight.

Yuri seizes onto Otabek's hand quickly, as soon as he senses it. He presses Otabek's fingers against his overly heated cheek, easing them towards his opening lips. Yuri's so soft everywhere. Especially the rim of his mouth.

The other boy dips Otabek's middle finger past his teeth, sinking past the first knuckle. Yuri's mouth closes around the dark-skinned finger and sucking lightly.

His lidded, green eyes never leave Otabek's awestruck face. There's a faintness of a smile when Yuri pops another one of Otabek's fingers into his mouth. The sucking increases, Yuri's tongue curling wetly around them, and even his teeth nibble slow, slowly.

Otabek cares more for the physical _vibrations_ of Yuri's moans. The sensation follows up his own fingertips and straight into Otabek's chest, unearthing that inescapable desire he's buried down deep.

Yuri is not the _only_ one who wants. So badly.

It's still not breaking the rules—even when Otabek hunches over, scattering feather-light kisses to Yuri's temple, humming to a cheekbone as the other boy whines and frantically jacks himself harder. With Otabek's fingers now removed from Yuri's mouth, he tangles a hand into shoulder-length, yellow hair.

As _tight_ as his jeans are, Otabek never touches himself, their faces pressed together when Yuri's eyelashes flutter wider open, his pupils swallowing up those vibrant irises in a blackened, mesmeric sea.

It's just the way it is.

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 _Yuri on Ice isn't mine. It's my only fic for **Otayuri Week 2017** (Day 3: Childhood or **FUTURE** ) but I'm actually in love with this one! It's rare that happens ahahaha. I snagged " **Otabek/Yurio + NSFW, (possibly mutual?) masturbation, underage-ish, voyeurism (?)** " off the YOI Kink Meme and was thrilled when my brain finally worked through how I wanted this to be! So any thoughts/comments are deeply appreciate thank you! :)_


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